


Painted in Faded Bruises

by finkpishnets



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Craig gets back to Dublin, beaten and bruised and so shaken he can barely stand, John Paul refuses to leave his side for three days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted in Faded Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Craig's return in Late Night Hollyoaks. Written for the hc_bingo prompt ‘violence’ and for myfoolisheart who was promised it far too long ago.

When Craig gets back to Dublin, beaten and bruised and so shaken he can barely stand, John Paul refuses to leave his side for three days. They sit, arms and legs tangled together on the sofa, living on cups of tea and beans on toast, Craig retelling his story over and over until it finally starts to sink in, and they both cry until the tears dry up. It’s the closest they’ve been since John Paul’s own return, looking much the same as Craig but fighting against it, as if ignoring it would change everything. Tina would still be alive. Kieron wouldn’t have died just for knowing him.

Craig mumbles into his collarbone, halfway to sleep, and John Paul holds him tighter, thinking of Niall, ( _his brother_ ), and chants _‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you’_ in his head until it blurs into a steady beat, anger thrumming through his veins.

John Paul is so glad for Dublin, so glad that he’s far away, because he’s _angry_ , angry enough to burst; he’s angry at Niall for being so fucking messed up, angry at his mum for never telling them she had another son, angry at Hollyoaks for inspiring hatred and drama and evil, but most of all he’s angry at himself for being the reason Craig needed some time away in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his throat raw and dry. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” Craig says, but he doesn’t sound angry, just sad. “It’s not your fault. None of it’s your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t…”

“Don’t.” Craig sits up, grabs his arm tightly and looks at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t do that. ‘What if’s’ don’t help anyone.”

The words wash over John Paul’s head and he wishes he could believe them.

 

+

 

They go back to their lives. Craig’s missed too many lectures and spends most of his evenings buried in textbooks, desperately trying to catch up while John Paul tries to lose himself in setting up DJ’ing gigs and making new playlists.

It doesn’t work.

Most of the time his head is filled with something like white noise. At night all he can see is Craig and Niall and Tina and Kieron printed on the back of his eyelids, keeping him awake until he feels Craig finally relax from his own nightmares against his side and the weight of his own exhaustion becomes too heavy.

If he were able to find humour in anything these days, he’d find it funny that he moved to Dublin to get away from his past and now it’s all he can think about. Or maybe that’s just depressing.

Craig talks to Steph more than he’s done in a long time, phones her at least once a week to check in and catch up, and John Paul sees the way his knuckles whiten around the receiver as he waits for her to pick up, the way his shoulders drop a notch when she does.

John Paul thinks of his own sisters and wishes the guilt would fade enough that he could actually press the call button on his mobile instead of staring at it for hours.

He doesn’t though, and they don’t call him either.

 

+

 

John Paul spends most of his time watching Craig work, whether it’s on his essays or down at the pub, and neither of them say anything but they both know it’s because he needs to be _sure_ , needs to know that Craig’s safe.

Nobody asks about the bruises just like they didn’t ask when John Paul returned in much the same state, and John Paul’s grateful because he doesn’t think he could even begin to explain it.

He plays pool with the locals and reads over Craig’s drafts and pretends that he still has a grasp on his own life even if it’s the biggest lie he’s told in a long time.

 

+

 

“This has to stop,” Craig says two months after his return (and John Paul can still see the bruises even if they’re long gone). “John Paul, look at me. This has to _stop_.”

“What does?” he says, and winces when Craig’s eyes narrow in frustration.

“It’s not your fault,” Craig says again, the words echo a thousand times and are still nothing more than noise in John Paul’s ears.

“I’m sorry,” he says and Craig throws up his arms in frustration, lets the front door slam behind him as he leaves and John Paul wants to call out, wants to apologise for being so selfish but the words catch in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the empty room, and if he cries then there’s no one there to see it.

 

+

 

It’s dark outside when John Paul wakes up, and his body tenses when he realises there’s someone sitting on the end of the bed, only relaxing when he realises it’s Craig.

“Hi,” he says, coughs when it comes out rough and dry. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Craig says, and when he turns around John Paul can see the bruise around his eye illuminated by the streetlamp outside.

“What the hell happened?” he says, sitting up and leaning over, running careful fingers gently across purple and fighting back the bile that’s threatening to rise.

“Got in a fight,” Craig says, all matter-of-fact, and John Paul waits and tries not to think that this is his fault too.

“I figured you can’t have the handle on self-pity,” Craig goes on, “I mean, after all, this is as much my fault as yours. I should have got the first flight back to Hollyoaks when you didn’t pick up your phone. I mean, you were tied up in an old church and I thought you were just celebrating your sister’s birthday. Or, you know, if I’d been a _good_ boyfriend I would have come with you in the first place, right?”

“Craig,” John Paul says, and the words hurt his throat. “Don’t.”

“What? Don’t blame myself for what happened to you? Don’t blame myself for the fact that Kieron died because you weren’t with him, you were with _me_? Don’t _what_ , John Paul?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” John Paul says, gripping Craig’s shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly into the skin there.

“No,” Craig says, “it was. But only as much as it was yours.”

John Paul’s eyes squeeze shut and he can’t breathe, not really, but he knows Craig’s right, logically knows it’s true, even if the idea of blaming him falls flat before it even forms.

“Hey,” Craig says, taking his face in his hands and placing a kiss on his cheek, leaving his lips pressed close so John Paul can feel him breathe. “It’s okay.”

Craig drags his lips across John Paul’s skin until they find his, and John Paul holds on tighter, kisses Craig like it’s everything and knows that is really is.

“I love you,” Craig says, whispered into John Paul’s mouth, and John Paul’s eyes squeeze shut. “ _I love you_.”

“I love you, too,” John Paul says because it’s all he has, the only truth he really owns anymore, and he hopes Craig understands that.

Craig pulls him closer, slips his t-shirt over his head and pushes him down into the bed, let’s his hands distract John Paul from his own head for a while. Craig isn’t gentle; he presses and pushes and makes sure that John Paul feels every little thing, and John Paul _lets_ himself for the first time since everything.

“I’ve got you,” Craig says, as John Paul shakes apart in his arms. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

 

+

 

Afterwards they lay side by side, legs threaded together and heads bent close, and just breathe.

Craig runs his hand through John Paul’s hair gently and doesn’t say that everything’s going to be okay, but John Paul thinks that maybe, eventually, it might be.


End file.
